


The Subjunctive Mood

by fictorium



Category: Good Wife (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Femslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-01
Updated: 2011-08-01
Packaged: 2017-10-22 02:18:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/232622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictorium/pseuds/fictorium





	The Subjunctive Mood

**and**

The problem, Alicia has to admit, is that she's not very good at being alone.

There aren't many years between her and Owen, so even her earliest memories are peppered with 'Alicia _and_ Owen', because siblings are a lot like barnacles and somewhere along the way she got used to him always being a part of her life.  (It's been harder, these past few years.  Oregon was too far away, but you don't ask someone not to have adventures just because you gave up on having any.)

Even college wasn't the streak of independence she'd been hoping for - lumped into groups by class, by society, by the corner of the bar she'd wait in for someone with fake ID to buy her a beer.  Even in Law School, the Serengeti of academic selection, Alicia had the kind of friends who did everything together.  (And then she had Will, and they didn't quite do everything, no matter how much the loaded silences said they wanted to).

Then, almost without her noticing, she became the subordinate clause--Peter _and_ Alicia--and she hasn't gotten the balance quite right since.  She’s been changing, just a little, her whole life—and always for someone else.

  
 **or**

Kalinda doesn't believe in _and_.  Kalinda wouldn't know the meaning of 'couple' if Alicia wrote it on her forehead and made her recite it ten times a night before bed.  With Kalinda, you make choices.  

(Kalinda doesn't make choices; she made one choice a long time ago, and she's been living it ever since). 

It's a night in Kalinda's bed _or_ pizza night with the kids.  It's a sane and stable choice who'll take you to dinner _or_ Kalinda, with her fingers and her tongue and that whispery way she has of saying 'fuck' when Alicia does something very, very right between her thighs.  Maybe it's a choice between safe or not safe at all, and Alicia only has experience with one of those.  (Until now).

They're in a disused copy room in the suite of offices that will soon belong to Eli, and Kalinda's got three fingers inside Alicia, stroking forcefully while her knuckles rub the sensitive edge that drives Alicia halfway out of her mind.  She comes, hard, with her scream muffled against the base of Kalinda's neck, the cool leather jacket pressed against her cheek. 

"A date," she says, when she has her breath back, but Kalinda does what she always does: changes the subject.  She drops to her knees in front of Alicia, pushing up her skirt with a smile.  They have to be quick, because someone in this building besides Kalinda has to have a key.  Alicia should stop her, should tell Kalinda that she wants it all--she wants an ' _and_ '--but Kalinda's too quick, and too good, and so Alicia makes a choice, one more time.

 

 **nor**

 

Will doesn’t ask why now; he doesn’t ask much of anything at all, not when Alicia wraps her legs around him and urges him on, thrust by increasingly reckless thrust.  It hurts, when they’re done, and Alicia smiles sadly into the pillow where he can’t see.

 

That he should be the one to mention Kalinda, later, when they’re drinking soda from the mini bar and debating the merits of room service, is enough to make Alicia’s blood run cold.  This is supposed to be her revenge, her bid for freedom, and maybe a hundred other things that are too much to ask from just one night.  All he asks is why things have been weird between her and Kalinda lately, but it’s an intrusion of reality that Alicia really didn’t need.

 

He’s making her choose, just like Peter did back in the final months of Georgetown, and Alicia wants to run.  She doesn’t want to be Will _and_ Alicia (Alicia _and_ Will? She’s the minor celebrity, really, and what wouldn’t she give for that not to be the case?)

 

She wants neither Will nor Peter, just her kids and her job and the promise of more, some day.  It’s too soon, it’s too much mess, and watching Will realize it just about breaks her heart.

 

  
"Let's forget about dinner. We said an hour, right?”  


 

Alicia wants to have an answer beyond shrugging in agreement, but she’s wrapped in a sheet and wants very badly to go home.  Everyone wants Alicia, it seems, but only when she isn’t sure that she wants them in return.  Will, with his romantic nostalgia; or Peter with his misguided belief that he’s still the man she thought she married; the firms who want to hire her, whether she wants to work for them or not.

 

And Kalinda, God, Kalinda, who won’t admit to wanting Alicia at all.  She doesn’t have to though, because Alicia saw all the times Kalinda’s hand trembled (just a little) and felt all the times, against her hand or her mouth, that Kalinda was so wet she might have drowned.

 

Will dresses fast, and he leaves the keycard on the bed with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

 

“This doesn’t have to be weird,” he promises.

 

 **but**

 

 

Honestly, Alicia isn’t sure that she’s mad at Kalinda at all, not in the face of her jealousy for the fact that Peter got there first—that Alicia can’t have one person, one damn thing to herself.  Even Zach, with that nervous grin and painfully obvious nonchalance when he asks about Kalinda, wants to intrude on the only happiness Alicia’s had in years.

 

If Kalinda--and fucking in secret--is happiness?  Then Alicia is more screwed up than even she realized.

 

But despite all the good reasons not to, Alicia finds herself calling Kalinda the first night that the kids go to stay with Peter.  She can’t bear to be alone (she should be able to, she should be able to want to) and so she calls and says, “I hate you,” which Kalinda understands perfectly well.

 

Kalinda brings wine (which she drops, right there on the parquet floor) when Alicia grabs her without concern for bruises and has her there, in the hallway, while Merlot pools around their feet.

 

Alicia thinks, somewhere between the sensuous gasps and muttered gasps of Kalinda’s orgasm (she’s even wetter tonight, meeting every touch of Alicia’s fingers with a silent plea for _more_ , for _more_ , for _more_ ), that she hears the word ‘sorry’.

 

As Kalinda recovers, pulling down her skirt and kicking off the panties that slipped into the wine, Alicia goes to fetch the mop to clean it up.  She won’t meet Kalinda’s eyes, but when the worst of the mess is gone, Kalinda is the one to take her hand and lead Alicia forcefully towards her own bedroom.

 

There’s nothing rough about Kalinda’s actions tonight, and she licks Alicia slowly and deliberately until Alicia’s sobbing and coming and seeing stars at the edges of her vision.

 

In the morning, the hallway smells like vinegar more than wine.  Alicia looks at the door that Kalinda slipped out of hours ago, while Alicia slept, and wonders how the hell her life turned out this way.

 

 **So**

 

Somehow, it stops being hard.  Alicia asks questions and sometimes Kalinda answers.  They can last a week, sometimes two, without wine or sex, and for at least an evening or two, Alicia learns how to be by herself.

 

She’s the one who tells Will, in the end.  He’s talking to Kalinda, calling her ‘K’ in that familiar way they have, and teasing her about how she’s different lately—has she finally found someone to love?  He doesn’t mind, of course, so long as it doesn’t affect her work.

 

Kalinda stares him down, torn between shocking him and privacy, and it honestly seems like she might have forgotten Alicia is even in the room.  Standing up from where she’s been comfortable on Will’s couch, Alicia makes the decision for her.

 

“She has,” Alicia says, taking Kalinda’s hand and smiling as kindly as she can at Will.  (She has the confidence now, from sleepy words that Kalinda keeps saying and then keeps pretending that she hasn’t).  “That’s not gonna be a problem, right?”

 

Will, to his credit, almost covers the shock.  He smirks a little, like they have to be playing some kind of joke on him, but when neither woman looks away, he’s forced to process it.  The dark cloud of jealousy is apparent, but fleeting, and Alicia supposes that it could have gone a lot worse.

 

“It’s okay,” Kalinda whispers, when they’re alone in the elevator.  “I mean, it’s good—that you told someone.”

 

Alicia laughs, long and hard, at Kalinda’s grudging acceptance.  So maybe she’s kind of, sort of an _and_ again.  Alicia and Kalinda.  Kalinda and Alicia. Either way, there’s plenty of room not to change.                          

 


End file.
